Break The Sky (Archived)
by A Quarter Past
Summary: When Niles and CC both resigned without reconciling, they left the Sheffields and went their separate ways only to be thrown together three years later.


A|N: I used to go by Discord in the Garden. I deleted a lot of my old fiction, including The Nanny fiction when I changed names. I was sad to see that The Nanny fanfiction site went down, and with it the last remains on my work online. If you're super worried that I'm not who I say I am, I offer you two things 1) All parts in one chapter, as to reduce my footprint and induce fewer reviews. And 2) receipts if needed. The Nanny fanfiction site used to have 'Discord's (ie, my) email listed. Any emails sent to that account to verify that this is indeed me will be answered with an affirmative. To that I promise. :D 

I really just want to make this story available to the people who enjoyed it again.

Summary: When Niles and CC both resigned without reconciling, they left the Sheffields and went their separate ways only to be thrown together three years later.

* * *

Part One

* * *

I

It was raining in New York, a heavy blanket of moisture dropped unceremoniously by a slate gray sky, and from her seat inside the taxi, Grace Sheffield watched the weather with greedy eyes. Of the entire clan, it had been she who had missed the East Coast the most; the quick pace of every day life as well as the atmosphere and the culture of Broadway that had been prominent throughout her childhood. California was beautiful in its own right, the sun a marvelous fixture that had given her skin a healthy glow and the beach a peaceful, slow paced spot for retreat, but it lacked the roots of memories, the childhood fondness that one develops for their hometown.

The taxi took her past the uptown mansion that had been her home only three years prior and she leaned against the window to watch it pass by. Fran and her father had allowed her to make this spring trip on her own, well not fully on her own, but she did have several days to herself before Maggie and Michael flew in from Paris to stay in New York for a photo shoot.

Grace had found herself smiling ruefully more than once between the airport and her old home. So much had happened in this city that had made her laugh as a child. Fran's antics had brought so much humor and chaos into their lives that there was hardly and inch of the city that didn't represent a story to the youngest…well, middle Sheffield child. And not just Fran, but Sylvia and Val and Niles and contributed to the tales. The former two had followed them to California, taking their own special brand of personality with them, while the latter had left the family before their cross-country move.

Grace had heard the story often. How Niles had proposed several times to Miss Babcock, only to be humiliated one too many times. In a flurry of embarrassment and fury, he'd resigned and left for England. How the family scarcely had time to be angry with CC, for the very same day as Niles, she had left Sheffield-Babcock productions. It had been difficult, at first, to retrieve the complete details of the duo's argument, but Fran had finally cracked and told Grace about the tape recorder and Niles's harsh-but-truthful final words to CC before his flight up the stairs.

While the family had never been particularly fond of Miss Babcock and accepted her departure somewhat seamlessly, the loss of Niles had proven a sad affair. He'd left no message of where he planned to go, left no means of contact. He left, and that was enough to leave an unpleasant gap in the family where he should have been. After a year in California, Fran and succeeded in finding a way to communicate with him again (he'd apparently lived with his parents for five months before taking a position under a upper class English family). Grace made several calls to him a month and kept up a written correspondence-and was admittedly the only of the three older Sheffield children to truly comprehend how a part of the family he still was, despite the distance.

And, if she was pressed to admit, Grace would confess that her trip to New York was in large part to do to him.

"Here we are," the driver looked in the rearview mirror, his brown eyes catching hers. "Would you like me to wait?"

Fishing into her knapsack, Grace pulled out two twenties and handed them to him, "Only if I don't get in. Keep the change, you were a wonderful driver."

He didn't smile, but he did nod in appreciation and watched as she wrestled with the miniature umbrella. Finally, when she'd managed to find the release, Grace pushed open the door and trotted across the sidewalk.

Before her was an older New York mansion. While it wasn't quite as large as her old home, Grace knew that it was a good sized building and wondered how much it cost in such a pricey area. Giving the blue door several firm knocks, she shuffled her feet and tucked herself carefully beneath the umbrella.

The door opened, presenting a woman with red hair. She looked several years older than Maggie and wore a business skirt and green blouse, "Grace Caulfield?"

"Yes, that's me."

The woman tilted her head and stepped aside, "Well, come in before you drown!"

II

The inside of the foyer was a neutral brown, not quite the cream tone that had covered the living room walls at the Sheffield's old mansion, but it brought back the comfortable memories regardless. Grace stood at the door as the woman took her umbrella and raincoat before ushering her through the room. Before they made it through the far door, Grace was able to appreciate the light cream furniture with royal blue accents and was certain the owner had hired a decorator, for surely she couldn't have picked such a welcoming color scheme.

"Right this way," the lady with red hair wound them up a set of spiral wooden stairs. "You're early, but she doesn't have any appointments, so I'll just take you right in."

Grace nodded absently, her mind second guessing the tale she'd conjured for this meeting. The play was hers, she didn't want to ask her father to produce it since he'd moved on to sitcoms, and she would be honored if it were produced here. It was all very likely that the entire lot of it would be seen for what it really was, a lie, but she had to try anyway.

"Here we are," her guide knocked on a dark, maple door and waited for the queue to open it. One seemed to come, for the red head pushed it open and motioned for Grace to follow her in.

"Your one o'clock is here."

Grace stared. She couldn't help it (at times like this she was painfully aware of how Fran's habits had rubbed off on her). She'd expected to see the blonde-to see her was why she was here in the first place- but Miss Babcock, for having only away from the family for three years, looked like a different woman.

Her light hair was the same but held up in the back with a clip. She sat bent behind the desk, her eyes flying back and forth behind a simple but elegant pair of black eye glasses. The most notable difference in attire was the lack of CC Babcock's signature business jacket with shoulder pads; instead, she seemed to be dressed in a gray-blue blouse with three-quarters length sleeves and possibly a skirt, Grace couldn't see. On top of that, CC was as demure as the young woman had ever remembered her to be, but also looked as if she could use a good meal or ten and a reason to smile.

That was it, Grace supposed. While the clothing was slightly different and the glasses a surprise, it was the set of the woman's face that was the most different. The CC Babcock she remembered had always looked bored or angry or smug. This version of the socialite was squinting with concentration, lipping along with the words she read, with her brow furrowed in thought. She looked like ivory, smooth and completely emotionless.

"Thank you, Marie," CC finally spoke, not bothering to look up as she scribbled something furiously onto the nearest sheet.

The door shut, leaving Grace alone with a woman she wasn't sure she wanted to be alone with. After all, who else had forgotten her name on a regular basis? Shown flares of anger often? Had a mental breakdown? Made Niles leave? Yet again, in the three years since her departure from her partnership with Grace's father, Miss Babcock had started her own production company, had won two Tony Awards for Broadway and had made a small niche of her own inside of showbiz. Alone. She'd done nicely for herself.

CC looked up, squinting at Grace through her lenses before pulling the glasses off. Grace made note that they must be for reading, not for regular use.

Still squinting, CC rested her arms on the edge of her desk and tapped her pen on the surface, "Well, have a seat."

Perhaps she didn't recognize her. It wouldn't surprise Grace, actually.

Except, she was still eyeing her with skeptical curiosity, "Sneaky, how you told Marie that your last name was Caulfield. Would you mind telling me why?"

Grace hesitated, "I-I thought I'd have a better chance meeting with you."

"Oh please," CC leaned forward and raised her eyebrows. Her tone was flat, "I resigned, I didn't declare war. Don't mistake the two."

"You've never really liked me," Grace argued in turn, admitting to herself that she was surprised that Miss Babcock had recognized her without any hints or neon signs.

"I neither liked nor disliked you," the blonde countered with a dismissing wave of the hand. "You weren't a concern to me."

"You couldn't even remember my name."

"You weren't my child."

"You mistreated Fran."

"It was mutual."

"You threw yourself at my father! You'd think you'd be smart enough to treat us nicely!"

A smile appeared on Miss Babcock's pale face, and then she laughed. It wasn't as loud or menacing as Grace had come to remember it, but it still had that low, sultry tone that could make anyone stare at the woman it emanated from. She seemed to be truly tickled by the young Sheffield's statement, for she gave a soft sigh as the laughter died down, her eyes still sparkling with mirth. Something in the way she held herself screamed that the woman was glad that Maxwell Sheffield had never bothered catching her.

Grace was utterly surprised.

Licking her dry lips, CC crossed her legs and leaned sideways against her armrest, "You were my favorite."

The bland, straightforward statement was disconcerting. The delivery of the words called for very little question of the sincerity, but Grace wasn't certain that she wanted to be CC Babcock's favorite Sheffield. "You just said you neither liked more disliked me…"

"And I meant it," was CC's drawled response, "but, luckily for you, you remind me of myself."

"I'm nothing like you," Grace crossed her arms protectively over her chest, aware that this conversation was straying far from where she needed it to be. She'd come here for a specific reason, and that was not to argue with a Babcock.

The blonde shrugged, her face falling behind an impassive mask, "You're still young."

"Look," Grace said with a sigh, not wanting this argument to continue further. She opened her knapsack and pressed on in a different direction, "I didn't come here to spar with you." Pulling out a stack of papers, she held them up and leaned toward the desk, "I have a play I would like you to read."

Miss Babcock only eyed it suspiciously for a second before leaning and gently pulling it from her grasp. Without a word, she put on her reading glasses and flipped through the papers until she came to the first act. Before long, a scowl formed on the blonde's face and she bit the inside of her cheek, eyes narrowing in concentration.

Eyes on the script, CC spoke, making Grace jump with a small start, "If I'm correct, your afternoon is free?"

"Y-yes."

"Good," CC's eyes continued to move over the lines, "I'd like a moment alone to scan through this. Marie will take you to the living room, I'll be with you as soon as I've finished."

It wasn't until she was being ushered out of the office that Grace dared to look at Miss Babcock again, and when she did, she wasn't certain that she should have. The woman, contrary to what Grace had expected of her, was staring blankly at the script, her cheek against her fist and her eyes distant.

She looked lost.

III

Chester found Grace sitting on one of the cream couches. He hadn't recognized her at first, but after a few coaxing pets to his back, he'd replaced his probing sniffs with ecstatic licks. The last three years looked as if they had done nothing to him and Grace couldn't help but be a little shocked. Hadn't she thought that CC Babcock disliked the dog? It was sad that she'd innately believed that the socialite would have deposed of the Pomeranian as soon as she could.

But she hadn't.

And he looked like a very happy dog.

"Hi Chester," Grace cooed for what was likely the fifth time in a half and hour and joined him on the cold floor. The dog yipped happily and licked at her face. "You're a good dog," she echoed, again, for the fifth time.

"He still growls at me on occasion."

Grace looked up, painfully aware where she was seated and how inappropriate it was. Miss Babcock didn't appear to mind, however. In fact, she was leaning against the doorframe, her eyes focused on the hyper fluff ball as he jumped all over the young girl's lap.

There a fondness in that light blue gaze that if Grace had seen before today would have seemed so out of place.

"He's cute," Grace didn't know how else to respond.

"Would you like anything to drink?" CC seemed equally at odds.

Grace stood and brushed her hands on her skirt, "No, thank you."

Without moving from her pace, CC gazed at the girl thoughtfully, "Who wrote the script?"

"Me," Grace lied feebly.

"Why didn't you show it to Maxwell, then?"

"He'd never take it seriously. Besides, he's in Hollywood now. No time for Broadway."

"What made you think I would take it seriously?"

"You have a better eye than my dad does. If it is good enough to produce, I know you will."

CC seemed flattered but was skeptical, "I still don't believe you wrote it."

Grace felt a small battle of will arising and squared her shoulders, "Why?"

A sneer crossed CC's face-but while it appeared smug, Grace could see the traces of sadness around the older woman's eyes, "Because, the protagonist is a butler."

Silence settled as both woman stared at one another. It wasn't the absence of speech that was unsettling to Grace, it was the way in which CC Babcock was looking at her. Not in anger but in betrayal, as if the blonde already knew who had written the play, as if she were hurt that Grace could drag the still fresh past into her office and hand it to her in the form of a play.

Grace wasn't used to this woman looking so much like a…woman. Vulnerable, pained, broken.

As Chester licked her ankles, it finally dawned on her that the woman watching her was probably very much alone.

Didn't she deserve it, though? After what she did to Niles?

If she did, why did Grace feel compassion? Why did she feel guilty over the haunted shadows in the other woman's eyes?

"Who wrote it, Grace?" This time, the question demanded a truthful response-not with anger, but with pointed urgency.

The young brunette sighed and couldn't help but feel incredibly small, "Niles."

IV

Grace was expecting to be kicked out, to be berated with harsh words until she was standing in the heavy rain. She was expecting the embarrassment and the anger and the wrath of CC Babcock, Bitch of Broadway. What she was not expecting was for the blonde to smile wistfully before quickly tucking the expression away.

Quite frankly, the girl didn't know what to make of it.

"It's good."

"What?"

CC pulled away from the door and walked carefully toward a cream chair, as if she were aware a sudden movement might cause the young brunette before her to jump out of her skin. "The play, it's good."

And then she sat.

"Really?" Grace followed the blonde's example and sank down on the comfortable cushions of the couch, "You aren't angry?"

"Oh, I'm angry, but as you said, I know a good play when I see one." Blue eyes seemed to sparkle, and Grace wasn't sure if she was being teased or not.

"So?"

"So what?" CC reached down and gave Chester a scratch behind his ears.

"Will you produce it?"

Picking the dog up, CC set him on her lap and continued to pet him. "I'm afraid it's not that simple."

Grace felt the refusal coming, and deflated in her chair. She couldn't find the will to argue, "Why not?"

The look she received-pursed lips and raised eyebrows-screamed that the answer was obvious. "I can't just take his play and produce it, Grace. He has to agree. Sign contracts. Work with me. I'm sorry to tell you this, but if you thought I was the hard one to convince, you were sorely mistaken. He's as stubborn as an ass."

Bashfully, Grace picked at the fabric on the armrest. This woman had contradicted all the characteristics Grace had built of her in her mind. What had happened to her? Aliens? Drugs? Yoga? Or had she always been this complex? Did they only see her as shallow and proud because they wanted to? Because it was easier that way? Grace was confused.

"Well, Miss Babcock, that's where you are mistaken."

"Oh?" the blonde sounded genuinely intrigued.

"When he let me read the script, I told him I could get you to agree to produce it, and he told me that pigs would sooner fly the Atlantic…"

"He would know…"

Grace couldn't help but smile, vaguely recalling the many times Miss Babcock had called Niles swine. "But he had the tone of voice, you know, like he really wanted the play to make it and would do anything to see it on stage…even let you produce it if it came down to it…"

When there was no response, Grace continued, "What do I tell him?"

A smirk fully blossomed on CC's face-smug and menacing and strangely beautiful. "Give him the bad news."

They shared an amused glance.

"Tell him to spread his wings and start flapping…"

* * *

Part Two

* * *

I

Between CC's agreement to take on Niles's play, considering he agreed to it, and Grace's departure, the two women had retreated once more to the upstairs office to take a joint look at the script until the rain settled into a softer drizzle. The girl left for her hotel just before dinner after making a remark about prior arranged plans.

CC had to admit, even after merely scanning through the material, that the play itself was remarkable. The added insight given by Grace's scene-by-scene analysis of the characters and their progression made the blonde equally filled with the anticipation of success and dread.

The focus hovered around the butler, Charles, and the rest of the serving staff of an early 19th Century English Nobleman, Wellington. The setting involved veiled hints of the ongoing struggle between England and France, matched with the unplanned visit of Wellington's widowed sister, Mary. The plot followed the serving staff as they eavesdropped on the lives of their masters, struggled to conceal Wellington's affair with a maid from his wife, while Charles himself faced a war of his own with the stubborn and sarcastic Mary. Dry wit flecked the piece everywhere, downplayed physical comedy appeared to shine through in several scenes, and it ended with Mary unveiling her brother's affair to his distraught wife, thus destroying what small blossoming chance of romance there had been between the feuding widow and the Butler.

CC knew a parallel when she saw one but chose to ignore the memories it drudged up. Niles had done well enough to hide the similarity it had to the strange feud-and-flirt relationship they had shared for more years than she could count behind other obscuring plots, such as the affair (although she had to note that Master Wellington was having it with a maid, who was strikingly similar to Fran Sheffield, minus the inability to pronounce an R) and the laugh-inducing side talk of the help.

She liked it, despite the unhappy ending. In fact, even CC had to admit that a happy ending would have ruined the piece. Mary was too proud, Charles too stubborn, Wellington and the maid too carefree and unmindful of their transparency-it was a devastatingly comedic mixture leading to romantic tragedy, where no one but the two blissfully careless adulterers came out happy-but it was real. Not everyone found their love, and even if they did, not everyone could have them.

The music was superb too, present but not overwhelming, and certainly not sappy.

"He got it in one," CC muttered.

"What?" Marie asked.

CC looked up at her assistant and realized that dinner time had long passed and the young woman was still there. She'd forgotten that she'd offered the redhead a place to stay while her apartment was being renovated. Her house was large enough to accommodate a family, and it wasn't as if the girl ever really made her presence known.

Almost completely sure that Grace had already made the call to Niles, CC fingered the pieces of paper the young Sheffield had left behind. Each had a number written on them- one was Grace's cell phone, one was her hotel room, and the last was a means to get a hold of Niles and schedule a meeting.

"I found this season's musical," CC answered absently. Holding up the written copy she had made of the third number, CC looked at her assistant, "Could you give this man a call and schedule an appointment within the week, I want his work."

Marie nodded and took the paper, "Of course."

II

The sensation of time moving at a pace that was equally slow as it was fast had always been disconcerting to CC. She'd learned from her very first day working in showbiz that in the span of twenty-four hours she could go from feeling as if time was dragging between one phone call and the next only to be running frantically out of the office three hours later because she hadn't expected the time to pass on that quickly. It was no different now, nearly two decades later, as she wrestled her way through the front door of her house, exactly one quick week after Grace's first visit, while holding an unpleasantly snail-speed conversation with her mother.

"You have to consider the ramifications, Mother."

"Oh, come now, CC, I of all people know what is best for me."

The blonde producer rolled her eyes as she discarded her purse on the nearest flat service and walked briskly through the living room. "You know nothing of this man…and, my god, you're paying him for his services! If you were in America it'd be illegal everywhere but Vegas…"

CC caught sight of Marie, who was waving her hand in a fashion that looked absolutely ridiculous. Which meant the young woman was probably trying to get her attention. In response, CC waved back, a sharp cut of her free hand through the air that screamed, Not now!

Marie shrugged, and CC started to ascend the stairs to her office.

"…he's a perfect gentlemen and we haven't done anything but talk," only half of BB's sentence registered over the line and CC shook her cell phone.

"Look, if you want a male escort find one at a show or a single's bar, Mummy. Even I think that it's desperate to pay for a date." Oh, god, she should be talking. How many times had she paid Ni… "Don't do anything until DD returns your call, clearly my words aren't making any sense to you, and I have things I need to get done."

She turned the doorknob and pressed her shoulder softly against the surface, causing the door to creak as it opened.

"You always have things to get done, how convenient for you…"

"Oh please, I learned from the best."

"Well, I…"

At the moment, CC didn't care what the rest of her mother's sentence was.

Sitting in front of her desk, watching her less than graceful entrance was none other than the familiar Grace Sheffield and the author of Babcock Production's newest show.

Hanging up on her still complaining mother, CC cleared her throat, shut the door behind her, and took the first step toward her desk.

"Hello. Hello."

III

"Hello. Hello."

It was strange to hear the old, signature greeting of Miss Babcock fill the room in Niles's voice, and Grace was momentarily startled into staring at the man with wide eyes. At this point, having met him at the airport earlier that morning and hugging him for the first time in three years, she had already grown accustomed to the small changes that time had worked on the butler, not that there were many. But this, him being the first to speak, she had not expected it…certainly not after he had asked her to accompany him to this meeting. Perhaps what she had mistaken for wariness at seeing his blonde foe again was merely him wanting her there because the advancement of his work was partially her doing.

Whether it was one or the other, she couldn't very well ask him now, especially not while Miss Babcock was looking at him in a confused state of her own.

Oy, this must be what Fran felt all those times she was stuck in a unavoidable situation.

"Hello," CC echoed, sitting behind her desk and looking down at her papers as though they held a very interesting secret her two visitors would never discover.

Niles wouldn't take his eyes off of her.

"Hi," Grace spluttered several seconds later, to remind them that she was still there and to end this awkward tension hanging in the air. She knew that Niles had proposed, and that Miss Babcock had rejected him, but this was to be about his play…not about their, er, Grace didn't really know what to call it.

Again, the adults sat in silence.

Just as Grace was about to make another attempt at conversation, Miss Babcock looked up from her papers (Grace noted that she was not wearing the glasses, which meant the older woman probably wasn't reading them) and looked squarely at Niles, as if the last twenty seconds had not happened.

"I hope your flight was…"

Please don't let her snark at him, please, Grace pleaded.

"…comfortable," she concluded at last.

Niles fidgeted, his fingers gripping lightly at his gray slacks, it was the first sign of nervousness he'd shown. Grace wondered what it must be like sitting under the scrutiny of the woman he had once loved. Loved? Loved still?

The brunette shook the thought out of her head. Business. She was here to witness business, not speculate about the emotional state of these people. No matter how curious she really was...

"It went well, Miss Babcock." Niles puckered his lips downward, apparently he was still in butler mode and did not like it.

Reaching for her reading glasses, CC fumbled with the smirk threatening to sprout, "You mean, no one took a shot at you?"

Niles adjusted his posture and sat straighter, "Didn't you hear, Miss Babcock? There is a higher demand for chicken this season. I was more than safe."

The blonde's eyes flickered quickly up to his face and she looked as if she were ready to reply; instead, she flicked her hand in a Touché gesture and focused on her work, leaving Grace to question whether or not she had missed something. By the way Niles's face softened with relief and something else she couldn't qiute place (funny, had she hadn't even noticed that he'd looked frightened until he didn't anymore), Grace knew that she had.

Silence settled again, and while it was lighter and less awkward than the last, Grace could still feel the tension. It was obvious that Miss Babcock couldn't keep her eyes on Niles more than several seconds, and even more painfully obvious that he couldn't take his eyes off of her.

She couldn't stand it anymore, this was worse than being a third wheel, it was like being a bicyclist who was stuck with two unicycles and no way to connect them. "Should I g…"

"No…" CC cut her off, beginning to shuffle through the manila folders that had, until two seconds before, been stacked neatly. She found the appropriate one and held it out to Niles, "A contract, should you choose to allow me to buy your show." Turning her eyes to Grace, she added, "Help him look through it, two pairs of eyes are better than one."

Looking at neither of them, CC took off her glasses and stood, "If you'll excuse me for a moment."

Grace wasn't blind, she had noticed the way the blonde clenched her fists before wiping them on the skirt of her black dress as she walked out.

IV

This was just great.

In three years, CC had made more than several positive changes to her life-the first of which, as Dr. Bort had told her, was leaving her partnership with Maxwell. The time away from him had allowed her to create her own business, to flourish under her own terms, and to finally pull herself from denial and realize that she really hadn't loved the idea of him as much as she had thought.

The second was reducing her drinking to a glass or two of wine a week-which Dr. Bort also said was, in large part, due to the fact that she wasn't surrounded by the antics of Fran Fine and the Sheffield children or fixing Maxwell's frequent idiotic mistakes when it came to business.

She'd even established a stronger relationship with her father before his death. Which was something she shouldn't be thinking about-especially not while trying to stop herself from crying in her powder room-because his loss was still too fresh and difficult for her to think about.

What she had not done in those three years, and what had hit her with the force of a speeding freight train upon seeing him for the first time since he'd left, was come to terms with Niles and the emotions that she felt that came with him.

She was a fool to think that taking on his musical wouldn't be difficult for her.

As she leaned against the vanity and pinched the bridge of her nose, CC had to admit that she hadn't wanted to buy the show based on its genius alone-it was also because she had wanted an excuse to see him again. She could kick herself for just realizing that now, after he had made himself comfortable in her office.

Why was it that seeing him again filled her with anticipation and fear?

"Because he was right, you fool." She muttered.

She did wonder what could have been-but while the entire Sheffield clan might still believe Niles's departure was her fault, she couldn't bring herself to take all of the blame. How could she have known that his proposals were real? Why was it wrong for her to act as if they weren't? Because, really, she had not realized that they were until standing on the banister listening to his final monologue to her.

Then why hadn't she stopped him from leaving?

That was the easiest of all. Because with Niles, despite how serious he appeared, there had always been the possibility of a prank-the possibility that, if she admitted that she cared about him on top of the fact that she was harboring very deep feelings for him, he'd hop around in a giddy circle while chiming, 'I gotcha,' and have fun with that new shiny piece of arsenal.

Face it, she told herself. Despite her feelings for him, three years ago CC Babcock would rather of had Niles leave for good than discover she'd only been harboring another pointless fantasy.

But he was back, by her doing no less, and pointless fantasy or not, she wanted him.

Checking herself in the mirror, CC straightened her dress and squared her shoulders.

There was no point in being weak about it.

V

"I apologize for that, I just realized that Marie might not be here to walk the dog."

The CC Babcock that brushed into the office was noticeably more composed than the CC Babcock who had left. Niles, who had been listening only partially to Grace before the blonde's return, tuned out the middle Sheffield child completely when he caught whiff of CC's light, floral perfume and saw that she was looking right at him. He hadn't realized how flattering the dress was on her until now...

Now that she was back-the formidable socialite whose serious expression could make most men whimper.

Good.

For a moment there, before her small recess, Niles had thought he was staring at a doppelganger of the blonde, someone who looked like her but wasn't.

And that line, it was an open invitation for him to strike and he knew it-and while he'd told himself more than once that he would only speak business, nearly twenty years of habit took control.

"Did the city finally order that you be put on leash in public?"

CC hesitated, and Niles mentally spurred her on. Come on, Babcock, I need to know if you still have it in you.

She scowled, "Oh can it, Benson, or I'll purchase you a muzzle."

"Be careful, Trollop, the cashier might mistake it as yours and try to help you put it on."

Leaning back she pressed a hand to her pale forehead in a dramatic pose that caused his stomach to stir pleasantly. "God, I forgot how repetitive your insults were becoming…maybe showing your musical isn't such a good idea, the audience will be asleep before the second act."

Grace gawked, floored by this apparently sudden change of atmosphere, "What is going on…"

They ignored her.

"You know, Niles, if I buy this show, I'm afraid we're going to have to make changes to the characters," CC prompted.

Niles went for the bait, "You're right, Mary has got to go if we're going to keep the cast interesting."

CC smiled and gave a low laugh, "Funny, I was about to say the same about the butler."

Grace interjected once more, this time forcefully as to catch the adults' attention, "Hey! This…this bickering between the two of you…that's a good sign, right?"

Was she kidding? This was why he had accepted the meeting in the first place. This was why he had scrambled to catch a flight to America on such a short notice. This was what had been painfully absent from his life for three years. This was CC Babcock, the woman who have driven him to leave but by offering to buy his script had forced him to realize that he wanted to come back-and that she might possibly want him to as well. This was, by some three year late twist of fate, a second chance to see if his departure was a mistake that would ruin their chance or the catalyst that would make them possible.

He loved her, and not once in three years had he ever stopped despite all of his attempts to try.

And while it was the child who asked, it was CC who he wanted to convince of this.

"Where do I sign?"

* * *

Part Three

* * *

I

Convincing her father to allow a summer long trip to New York City was easier than she had calculated it to be. After Grace's ten day visit in the spring, which saw her saying farewell to Niles on his return trip to England a day before her own flight back to California, she had fully planned on traveling back to the city on her two months between school so that she might keep track of the progress of the play. Niles had also promised to return for two weeks at the end of June, so that he himself might watch the progression of his work.

The only wrench in the well oiled machine was that Brighton would be there as well. While hiding her visits to Miss Babcock's mansion had been easy to do with Maggie, she couldn't expect the same with her brother. Brighton was the epitome of clever, he'd be on to her in no time, and Grace wasn't sure that she wanted news of Niles and CC's strange partnership to reach her father and step-mother…those two had a way of making good situations turn on their stomach.

The time between her first visit and her second passed quickly, and as Grace pulled her luggage from the belt, she couldn't believe that she'd be home for two whole months. New York. She'd missed it, and the Spring Teaser Visit had made her longing for the city stronger.

Checking her watch, she saw that it was noon and smiled, Brighton's flight wouldn't arrive until after dinner. She'd have five hours to relax in her hotel. The thought of relaxing made her laugh at herself, there was no way she was going to relax when she had a good five hours to roam without her brother there to chaperone.

By three in the afternoon she had left her stuff at the hotel, shopped (though not enough to make Fran proud), and found herself shamelessly knocking on the blue door of Miss Babcock's home. Of course, she was perfectly aware that meetings could and probably were being held, but she was curious.

The door opened on her third knock, revealing Marie in a white blouse and slate gray skirt. For a moment, the woman looked confused, having only seen Grace a handful of times before, but a smile from the young Sheffield seemed to spark her memory.

"Ah! Caulfield-Sheffield," Marie had taken to calling her by her faux surname as well as her real, as a reminder of her devious trick. That the reminder always came with a smile put Grace at ease-Marie was serious about her work, but not too high strung.

"I obviously don't have an appointment," Grace held up her shopping bags as emphasis-no one showed up for a business meeting with their shopping on their arm, "but I have Chinese." If it was one thing Sylvia had taught Grace, it was that food tended to make socially unacceptable things acceptable.

Marie held the door open, "Well come on in. Miss Babcock had a meeting through breakfast and forgot to eat lunch. I'm sure you'll have until she digests what you've brought before she asks why you are here."

Grace had been hoping for that-what she had observed of Miss Babcock's eating habits over the course of her childhood was that the older woman, while in the midst of work, forgot that food existed. And in her last visit to New York, Grace had noted that it showed.

"Is she in her office?"

Marie nodded and took Grace's shopping bags, "She just finished yelling at one of the cast's agents. I suggest you knock twice, and when she screams What! start with, 'Miss Babcock, I have Chinese.'"

They shared a laughed.

"Thanks for the tip."

Marie grinned, "You know the way-I can't take part in this, she'll have my head."

Grace saluted and started toward the far living room door. When she finished making her way up the wooden stairs, she took a deep breath outside of the office door and checked the bag to see if all the wrapped silverware and soy sauce was there. It was.

She knocked. Twice.

"What!"

A grin attacked Grace's face, Marie hadn't been joking.

Grace cleared her throat, "Miss Babcock, I have Chinese!"

II

Despite Marie's promise that Miss Babcock would not inquire why she was there, Grace sat through a late lunch on the receiving in of the blonde's periodic suspicious glances. The young girl was finding it difficult to find a comfortable position on straight-back chair.

"How's the, er, musical preparations coming along?"

Reaching for a napkin, CC raised her eyebrows at the girl, "We finished casting today."

That was good, the woman hadn't threatened her for asking.

Grace asked several more questions about the production and fell silent as soon as it appeared that it was coming along nicely. Rehearsals would start the Monday of the second-to-last week of June, and if it continued to go well, Miss Babcock planned on letting the Director on a looser leash until the final week of rehearsals.

When the cartons were set aside and both women full, CC crossed her legs and leaned back in her chair, her hands laced together on her lap. "Why are you here?"

There was nothing better than the truth, so Grace gave it, "I convinced my dad to let me spend the summer in New York, and I wanted to ask you if I could keep tabs on the musical."

CC paled, "You didn't tell him about it, did you?"

"No!" Grace said quickly, noticing the way the blonde's eyes had widened.

"Thank god. No offense, but I've found that producing is easier when he's not around."

"No one to distract you?" Grace bit her tongue after that one, waiting for a reprimand. Point to self: don't mention Miss Babcock's old obsession with a one, Mr. Sheffield.

She received a look of warning. "Nooo," CC emphasized, "No one around to screw things up."

Grace pulled a face.

"Oh please," CC continued. "Your father may not have been the worst Producer in Broadway, but that didn't make him good."

The teenager had to admit that she agreed-her dad had done splendidly when it came to sitcoms, but she couldn't recall a time when he'd done so well in New York. "He did have a habit of picking the strangest shows."

"Ah, the critics would love you."

"So, can I drop in from time to time?"

CC watched her, thoughtfulness etched across her expression. Grace was slowly coming to learn that while the blonde could be blunt and irksome-sometimes downright abrasive-she did have, and likely had always had, the ability to pass herself off as a reasonable and caring human.

"Just don't drag the rest of the pound in."

Grace grinned, "Deal."

III

"Niles!"

The echo of Grace Sheffield's ecstatic yelp echoed to the stage, reaching CC's ears while she was in the middle of explaining the importance of being on time to the actress who played Janette, Wellington's maid-friend. She had done her best not to yell at the woman, resorting to clipped words and choppy hand gestures.

"Don't do it again!"

Turning from the chided woman, CC caught the tail end of the hug Grace had bestowed upon the butler. Seeing him reminded her how quickly time had passed since May, and even more quickly since the impromptu meeting she'd had with Grace at the beginning of June. Even then, she realized that she had already begun to miss him. How had she managed three years without crawling out of her skin?

Of course he'd be here to watch the rehearsals-she'd just forgotten that he'd be here today.

"Rochester," She greeted, descending from the stage to stand before him in the aisle.

"Already picking on the maid, I see…" he deadpanned.

"If the fact that I already can't stand her is any indication, then she's perfect for the part."

He hummed and looked at her in away that said he had been expecting her to say that. Not responding immediately, he left the side of Grace and took a step pass CC, "And Wellington?"

"Dumber than a box of rocks," CC cast a glace in Grace's direction and thanked every deity there was that the girl didn't hear her. It was painfully obvious that William Wellington was an analogy for her father.

CC could have sworn she saw Niles smirk.

"Charles?"

CC grumbled, "A pain in my ass. Now, shut up and take a seat, they're going to run through the first scene standing…with scripts."

Sitting next to him, CC had to refrain from making a comment about how he still smelled like lemons and waved for the director to start the rehearsal.

It wasn't until several hours later, after Grace had fled to meet Brighton for lunch and the Director chose to run through the lines of the second scene, that CC realized she and Niles-despite the occasional impatient correction from her-had sat side-by-side the entire time without throwing insulting comments at one another. In fact, every time she had glanced at him, he had been staring at the stage in a daze, as if in awe that his work was being acted out in front of him or at her in a strange mixture of thankfulness and…she couldn't quite place it.

This time, as she looked at him, the conditions hadn't changed but his look had.

The conditions hadn't changed except, perhaps, the actress playing Mary had taken her place on the stage.

"What? She's the best Mary I could fine" she hissed, his awed expression had changed to a smirk.

Leaning closer than necessary, he nudged her arm off of her armrest and dropped two words into her ear, causing the hair at the nape of her neck to stand at attention.

"She's brunette."

He held her eyes in a loaded gaze, reminding her of a night a-long-but-not-forgotten time ago, and CC forgot to breathe.

IV

As quickly as he had come, Niles was gone again, along with the month of June. This time, however, he had explained he wouldn't be making another trip back until the opening night of the show. Which was, if CC wanted to torture herself by calculating it, not for another six months.

It frightened her how she could miss him so terribly-in the two weeks he had stayed, she had become accustomed to his jokes at her expense, his pranks (which had now resolved around making her think Fran had learned of the production…she'd lost count of how many times he'd nearly given her a heart attack with that one), and his ridiculous ability to convince Marie to let him in so he could cook.

They'd fallen into their old roles-give or take a few details, Fran was no longer there to help him mock her, Maxwell was no longer there for CC to fling herself at, and Niles scoffed at the notion of playing butler for her. They had done so well at reverting back to their old game, that CC suspected Grace's increased visits were solely planned so that she could watch them.

Hadn't the girl made it clear that Mary and Charles were going to steal the show?

Speaking of the girl, there was an incessant pounding on CC's office door…and it certainly wasn't Marie.

"Stop it before you beat the door down!"

Grace stumbled in, "Oh my god, I'm so sorry!"

Startled, CC sat up, straight and alert, "What?"

The girl squirmed and let out a groan, "Brighton followed me from the theater."

"What!"

"He's demanding that Marie let him in," Grace continued.

"No!"

"Too late," it was a whine.

CC panicked and stood, too focused on what that boy's arrival meant to pretend she didn't know who Grace was talking about. If she had to admit it, the blonde was years passed pretending that she couldn't recall the names of the three children…she had demonstrated that much when Grace had made her first visit.

"Okay, calm down. He doesn't have to know you're here," CC explained, she was not going to allow the peace and quiet she'd built away from the Sheffields to be ruined by this girl and her brother. A proverbial light ball flicked on above her head, "Stay here. I'll deal with him."

Leaving Grace in the office, CC shut the door and stalked toward the stairs.

"Marie!"

The redhead stumbled into the hall, the older looking Brighton Sheffield following on her heels.

The two came to a halt and the bottom of the stairs, Marie sporting an apologetic frown, Brighton wearing his shock in the form of a dropped jaw. Apparently he had not expected to see CC Babcock in the same building as his fleeing sister.

When he recovered, his eyes narrowed in confusion, "Where is she?"

"Who?" CC asked, her arms crossed over her chest.

"Grace," he answered impatiently.

"Again, I ask, who?"

"I saw her come in here," he pointed to the floor, "Why she'd be here to see you, I don't know…but I saw her."

When CC didn't answer, she could see the gears churning in his head.

"I'll call my father," he threatened.

She growled, that brat!

V

"So, you're telling me that Grace has been helping you and Niles produce one of his musicals?"

They were all seated in the living room, a pot of tea sitting on the coffee table along side a small pile of cookies. Marie sat perched in one of the armchairs, looking from Brighton to Grace then to CC, likely confused as to the prior relationship of the three. CC sat in an armchair of her own, slouched and clearly tired of the company she shared, while Brighton and Grace sat on either end of the couch.

"That's correct," CC answered.

"Why?" He asked.

"Why what?"

"Why are you letting her help you? You don't even like us. And why are you producing Niles' musical? Last time I checked, you really didn't like him," Brighton was making this hard for her.

Grace fidgeted uncomfortably, but spoke up before CC could locate a proper response, "She didn't have time for us, Brighton. She was dad's business partner, not his friend, and she did most of the work, so it wasn't like she could spend time with us. And seriously, if you think about it, we were little kids and did nothing but get in her way…And Niles, well he wasn't innocent either. You saw the way he made fun of her."

Running his hand through his hair, Brighton pondered what she said, "But that still doesn't answer my question. So, she had a reason to not care for us, and a reason to not like Niles…but what reason does she have for this sudden change of heart when it concerns you and him? I'm going to have a hard time explaining this to dad."

"No you won't," Grace blurted out.

Both CC and Brighton snapped their heads in her direction, "What?!"

Grace jutted up her chin and looked at her brother down her nose, "You're not going to tell him, that's what. I'm almost an adult now, and I'm not doing anything wrong, and neither is Miss Babcock. If Niles wanted him to know about his musical, he would have told Fran by now. But he hasn't, so we have to assume that he doesn't want her knowing yet. And I don't blame him..."

CC sagged in relief, perhaps her mansion wouldn't be crawling with the Sheffield and Fine brood after all. It wasn't as if she despised them-in fact, it could almost be said that she missed Yetta's forgetfulness-she just didn't think her sanity could remain in tact if they all burst into her life again. She'd made a comfortable, niche for herself without them getting in the way. She wasn't prepared to see that go so soon, not because she allowed the Little One to help her.

Brighton sat in thought for a moment, weighing the pros and cons of keeping this silent (it was likely that he was seeing that no real harm could come out of this or not. It wasn't as if he'd caught Grace selling drugs or her body on the street corner). "Fine, dad and mom don't have to know, but Grace you have to tell me whenever you going to the theater or coming here. No more sneaking around, I have to know where you are in case something happens to you… got it?"

Grace nodded.

"And you," Brighton started, authority filling is voice. Authority that vanished when CC corrected her posture and clenched her jaw at him. "You…uh…better not be doing this to screw around with Niles. You've already hurt him enough."

Locking eyes with him for longer than necessary, CC made it clear by way of glare that he had absolutely no idea of what he was talking of.

"Wouldn't dream of it," she drawled.

And meant it.

* * *

Part Four

* * *

I

New York was bathed in white, and while the streets were dirty with slush, the light snow fall brought with it the novelty of the holidays. Between the weather and the last minute details with the musical, CC had found it difficult to leave her office. It was opening night, her palms were sweating with the anticipation, and her mood was kin to ice.

The Sheffields, all of them, had discovered the upcoming play two weeks into November. While she had been able to deflect Fran's calls and Maxwell's emails, CC hadn't been able to avoid them altogether. At the behest of Grace, whom CC had become fond of in the last eight months-the girl was clever and bright, and while she continued to remind CC of her younger self, Grace was still a genuinely kind girl-the blonde had invited them to stay at the mansion for a week prior to the Musical, as well as one day after.

She was regretting it. The twins were jointly the harbingers of many a headaches, running around the living room and guest room areas shrieking in tones far from human, while Maggie moped about, hand on her slightly protruding stomach, whining that she missed Michael (apparently the boy was on a shoot). Brighton and Grace had occupied Fran, when the twins weren't, but the woman still managed to corner CC. Apparently the yenta was dying to know why CC had taken the play-and wasn't beyond using her voice to rip it out of the blonde.

Maxwell had been the biggest pain of all, and CC found that to be a cosmic irony. What she had taken for polite curiosity in her work and quickly spawned into real curiosity. For the first time in twenty years, Maxwell Sheffield was truly interested in the fact that she breathed, and it grated on her nerves beyond anything imaginable. She'd avoided him like the plague in hopes that she wouldn't have to endure any more Tony talk…

"Knock. Knock!"

Running the budget numbers again, CC ignored the nasally call.

"Knock. Knock. Miss Baaabcock!" The door cracked open as the brunette slipped in, "Miss Babcock, it's five after four, shouldn't you be getting ready?"

As Fran stepped closer, CC's eyes flickered upward and her mouth drew into a thin line, "Don't sit on my desk." She had discovered in the last seven days that if there was an office and a desk, Fran would walk into it and sit down on it.

"Come on, Miss Babcock, there are only three hours until the show and you've been sitting in here all day. Get up, take a bath, get into your dress…"

"I'm afraid what you're asking for is inappropriate, Mrs. Sheffield," a deep voice flitted in from the doorway. "Men shouldn't wear dresses."

CC pursed her lips as Fran threw her hands into air, "Ni-yuls!"

Rushing forward, the brunette threw her arms around his neck and jumped with excitement, "Oh my god, I haven't seen you in almost four years. How are you?! I can't believe another one of your plays are being produced. By her no less! How are you!? Look, Miss Babcock, it's Niles!"

Squeezing her briefly in return, Niles stepped away and lowered his hands to her arms, "And those four years have been kind to you. What are you now, twenty-nine?" He smiled at her swat and continued, "I've been absolutely well, but not as well as you, I've heard…."

Clearing her throat, CC looked down to her papers again and jotted down the sum, "I work better without white noise." She hadn't expected to see him until the show, his early arrival made her pulse jump and she didn't Fran to be there to witness her struggle to keep her eyes off of him.

The last six months had helped solidify her feelings, had prepared her to broach the subject at the cast party, but it hadn't prepared her to see him. Especially early. She was at a loss.

Fran laughed.

"And fog horns," CC lamented.

"Oh, Niles, I think she wants us to leave. Come on, you have to see the twins…" Fran grabbed his hand and tugged him toward the door.

"Actually, Mrs. Sheffield, could you excuse us for a moment, there is something I would like to discuss with Miss Babcock, first."

"Sure, honey," the look Fran shot CC could best be described as a warning before leaving. She hadn't seen her friend in so long, and there was no way she was going to let the socialite chase him off again.

When the echoes of Fran's heels faded away, CC set her pen down carefully and looked up as Niles stepped further into her office. Noticing that his interest was in her bookshelves, she stood, "Would you like some tea?"

Without waiting for him to reply, she grabbed the mug Marie had left for her and filled it halfway before setting it opposite her on the desk. If he was surprised at the sight of her serving him, it didn't show.

Taking a seat, he wrung his hands, "Miss Babcock, I have yet to thank you for producing my show."

Sitting, she tried to relieve the tension, "I would have been an idiot not to. It's award material."

He beamed at her titled compliment, "Thank you." As and afterthought, he added, "Sir."

CC pulled a face, "You're early, Scrubbing Bubbles. Maxwell told me that you were meeting us at the theater."

"I thought I would help Marie with the last minute party preparations, her boss is a slave driver."

Their banter was fluid, less pointed than that of what they had shared while under the employment of Maxwell. While the insults were there, CC was able to see that the intent to hurt was not. Despite the air of unspoken issues that remained from that time, they'd fallen into a comfortable pattern. It was a good sign.

Still, she responded with a huff, "I'll have you know, I gave her the morning off. She offered to take over putting together the last minute details."

"Possibly because she knew it would be her head being gnawed off if anything is out of place at the cast party," Niles volleyed back.

"Oh, that's just nonsense." Standing, CC straightened her shirt and noted the way he watched her movements, "By default, and the for the sake of old times, it would be your head being gnawed off. Now, excuse me, while I go sharpen my teeth."

II

Miss Babcock was running late for her own production. Not late per say-as the show wouldn't start for thirty minutes-but later than usual. Or so she had said, more than once. Grace was on her heels, trying to keep up with the blonde who had surprisingly let the girl arrive with her without argument. They'd just walked through the theater doors, divested themselves of their coats, and were making pleasantries with several of the backers while trying desperately to get backstage for a final word with the performers.

After fifteen minutes of talking through their teeth, Grace managed to drag them away from the most persistent of the backers by clearing her throat and mumbling (just loud enough for the overbearing man to hear) that she needed help with a dress malfunction. Miss Babcock clung to the excuse as if it were a lifeline, and allowed herself to be tugged through the crowed.

"That man makes me want to claw at something," CC hissed, running her hands down the front of her dress, flattening out the invisible wrinkles.

Grace wondered how Niles would have responded to that, knowing he would have managed something smart, but distracted herself from that train of thought by pulling Miss Babcock's hands away from her attire, "You look fine!"

She looked more than fine. Even Fran had said so when the tall blonde had brushed through the living room in her escape from Sylvia's attempts to talk her into telling where Niles had taken the food. The gown she wore was simple, true to the socialite's modest style; it was deep red, had a very slight swoop neckline with thin shoulder straps and was floor length.

Grace suspected that Fran would have sang a different tune if the dress didn't expose the back to just below her shoulder blades. Regardless of the modesty of the front, Grace thought it suited Miss Babcock well. Especially with her hair up that way.

Miss Babcock looked at Grace for a moment before nodding and leading the way to dressing area. They met no resistance on the way, found the bulk of the cast, and made sure they were all ready.

"Break your legs, and I'll have your heads," CC said to the listening group. "Do good tonight."

Having expected more yelling and threatening, Grace was surprised when she found herself free to give her own final words of encouragement before following Miss Babcock to their seats.

Fran and Grace's father were already there, Maggie next to them and Brighton next to her. Grace took a seat beside her brother, Miss Babcock took one next to her, and the entire group was surprised five minutes later when Niles chose a seat next to the blonde instead of seat Fran had saved for him.

Craning her neck to glance at the socialite and butler, Grace couldn't manage to suppress a giddy smile. This was their night, perhaps in more ways than one.

III

The musical was a success. Investors and the audience alike had greeted it with unyielding attention and gave a standing ovation as a farewell. Unanimously good reviews sprang up from those who'd watched it, and despite it's untraditional unhappiness, the ending had been the sealing deal. There was something about the lingering pain of watching a good match part ways without death being involved that haunted the viewers, in a good way. They had still been buzzing about it when the Sheffields escorted CC to the cast party, which happened to be at her home.

CC made her rounds; congratulated the right people, endured awkward yet excited hugs, directed lost cast members to the food, led Sylvia astray from the food, avoided Fran, listened to Maxwell as long as she sanely could, and found herself declining more hard liquor than she would have three years before. Then, without even telling Marie, she went into hiding.

If she could call the balcony outside the second floor library hiding.

It was cold. She was cold, but she didn't mind much. Below her were the happy, muffled sounds of the party, behind her was the wafting chords of music, and in her hand was a glass of red wine she had yet to sip from. This was okay, and although she would never admit it, CC found that these cast parties made her feel less alone in her own house.

She'd never expected to buy the mansion-not a place so big-but her father had expressed his interest in it just days before the previous year's catastrophe. She'd been in Maine on the morning of September 11th, but the call from DD had reached her regardless. Stuart Babcock had been flying in for a meeting, had been among the flights that vanished, and she'd been left trying to find a way to get back home.

A week after his funeral, she had discovered that he'd made a bid on the mansion and, in turn, contacted the owners. CC bought it in place of him and moved from her penthouse a month later. It was large and void of people, but she understood why her father had loved it.

It was inviting.

Shivering, CC fingered the edge of the crystal and gazed downward. She'd stay out for a couple more minutes before going in. There was no point in hiding from everyone all night. They'd just harass her in the morning. Besides, Kimberly, the woman who'd played the part of Mary, deserved a clap on the back for her performance. CC had never come across anyone, other than her mother or sister, who could radiate as much Babcock spirit as Kimberly could-and to think it was only an act.

"I thought I'd find you in your natural habitat."

CC chuckled softly. Why had she been expecting this?

Without turning she asked incredulously, "The balcony?"

"The cold, starless night."

Despite the flat, apathetic delivery, she felt the weight of Niles' jacket being settled over her shoulders. Turning slightly, she gave him a sidelong look and forwent the Thank You. He'd know she appreciated it when he discovered that she wasn't going to throw it back at him in disgust.

"I think it's beautiful," she argued halfheartedly. That such beauty could cause frostbite if one was not careful was beside the point.

Coming up to stand beside her, Niles leaned against the balcony railing, his forearms taking most of his weight. "That too."

They both looked down to see late comers arrive. She hoped they didn't expect her to be there to welcome them. Marie would have to do.

When Niles saw her shiver again, he hooked his hand in the crook of her arm and led her surprisingly willing form back into the library, "You'll catch your death," he warned to prevent her from arguing half way back.

"Wouldn't you like that?" she shot, lacking true conviction.

"The press would help the musical," he offered.

"Ha. Ha. Pledge Breath, without me alive that musical wouldn't get anywhere," she was lying, of course, but it was as good as she could give at the moment.

Niles shut the balcony doors and turned as CC was hanging his jacket on the back of one of the two armchairs in the room. She was still wearing the red gown, and the angle at which she stood gave him a wonderful view of her back. One he enjoyed. When she turned and caught him staring, he didn't blush; instead, he stepped forward and extended a hand.

"A dance before we run back to the wolves?"

Putting on a show of reluctance, CC slowly set her untouched wine on the sitting table before easing her way toward him. She'd promised herself that she'd speak to him truthfully tonight, and it seemed that he was going to make it easy for her. If the way he stood waiting for her was any indication, then she wasn't going to meet too much resistance tonight.

She accepted his offered hand and stepped into his loose hold. They stood still a moment, not quite looking at one another, and waited until the music from below started again. When the rhythm was detectable, and they began moving in a lazy circle, CC found it safe to talk.

"The critics will love it."

"Mmmm," he responded, and she felt his hand squeeze hers gently. The warmth that shot through her was enough to chase away the old chill of her visit to the balcony, but not enough to replace the chill of the last three years.

Knowing he deserved more than an offhanded compliment, she added, "I loved it. You did good, servant."

Leading them back a step, he edged her away from him then eased her back, "Even the ending?"

"Even the ending," she conceded. "Not everything ends happily-it was real, and the audience appreciated it. They would have been offended if it hadn't turned out the way it did."

Turning them slowly, he changed the subject, "You've been treating Miss Grace nicely. Why?"

Hearing the slight edge of disbelief in his voice, CC was startled. This was a question she had not expected.

Gripping her hand tighter, Niles detected her shock and placed a hand on her back. Looking over his shoulder, CC clenched her jaw and took a deep breath. She knew he had every right to ask that question-that to anyone, the sight of CC Babcock getting along with Grace Sheffield would cause confusion-but that he asked as if he didn't believe that she truly cared for the girl upset her. She'd liked to think she had changed a little over the years, that her insincerity only existed in her work…that she treated people better.

"Answer the question, Miss Babcock," he ordered gently.

Convincing her reluctant feet to rejoin the dance, she answered, "I like her, that's why."

He snorted, and this time it was CC who kept him from stepping away. His further display of skepticism made her eager to prove that she was telling the truth. "I'm serious, Niles. She's a… good…kid, I like her."

"I don't believe you."

"Then change the subject or stop talking, I can't change your mind." Her voice was brisk and no-nonsense, causing him to fall silent. CC knew why she liked Grace-the girl had brought her Niles. She'd brought her a second chance.

"She's not afraid of me," she added a moment later, despite her outburst, "and she demands respect."

Not sure if the subtle bob of his head was his show of understanding and belief, she fell silent again.

When the song ended, she expected him to pull away and escort her downstairs. When the next song picked up and he began leading her in another dance, CC sighed and stepped closer. If she was being transparent, she didn't care. Three years ago he'd thrown caution to the wind and was crushed-she couldn't expect him to do it again without the knowledge that she'd accept him. That was, of course, if he still wanted her.

"This was my favorite part," she whispered, her eyes slipping closed when his thumb stroked the bare skin of her upper back.

"Hmmm?" His cheek was parallel to hers, his hum tickling her ear.

The fact that he hadn't shoved her away bolstered her courage, "Act four, Scene Two."

He considered her answer for a moment-she could tell he knew what she meant when he caressed her back again.

"The thoroughbred and the butler dancing," she added with a ghost of a smile, "who would have thought that it'd look so natural?"

"Miss Babcock-"

"CC, Niles," she corrected. "You're not a butler tonight. The formalities aren't needed." Seeing his reluctant nod, she waited for him to continue.

"CC," he tested, and she liked it, "watching my musical being performed tonight was like watching a dream come true-and you, of all people, made it possible. I'm grateful."

It was her turn to squeeze his hand, "It was my pleasure."

Sharing a smile, they pulled a part for a moment as he twirled her. Pulling her back in, he caught her waist with his free hand, "All right, CC, what have you done with Miss Babcock? You're being absolutely pleasant, it's frightening me…"

"Frightening you? I hardly know what's happening to me. One minute I'm fine, and the next I'm being nice. I don't even know who I am anymore," she laughed softly and he joined. "Oh, Niles, I've missed this."

He stifled his laughter and turned them, "Missed what?"

"Our word games. You kept me on my toes…"

"Someone had to hold your deadweight up…"

She slapped his arm, a warning glint in her eyes.

"You have become quite senile since I've left," he conceded, mirth pulling on the corner of his lips.

"Funny, I was about to say that I've actually become sane."

"-Same thing-" They dropped simultaneously, falling into a gentle and mutual laughter.

* * *

Part Five

* * *

I

They'd left after the last note of the third song, making their way down the hall stairs to part ways and mingle. The radiant smile she sported while shaking Janette and Kimberly's hands was real, and despite the actresses' confusion at seeing their demanding producer bantering lightly with them before moving on, they'd accepted it along with her praise, assigning her happiness to the success of the play.

In her slow travel around the living room and dining room, CC found herself in the company of Fran, who gave her a hug. What surprised them both was that she returned it-albeit, after a gentle hesitation first.

"The musical was great, Miss Babcock. I know I've said it three times already, but I'm just so happy for Niles. And you," she added with her characteristic excitement, "it's not even my work and here I am so thankful that ya produced it."

If CC was truthful to herself, she'd have to admit that she and Fran Sheffield would never be friends-they just drove each other mad with their contrasting personalities and would continue to. It was moments like these, however, when both were caught with their respective guards down-both happy and thrilled-that she knew that by knowing each other for six years, they cared for each other enough to be genuinely friendly when it counted.

And, if she were further pressed, CC could even admit that Fran's pride in Niles touched her.

"I'll tell you a little secret," there was a tilt to CC's smile, the beginning of a playful smirk, "only because I know you'll tell everyone. It's not me you should be thanking, it's your daughter."

"Maggie?"

The visual of the pregnant and whining heiress filled CC's mind, and she frowned, "No."

"Grace? Why Grace?"

"Who do you think brought me the script? It certainly wasn't Niles. Come on, put two and two together. Her visits, her fascination with the going-ons behind the scenes," now that the show had opened, it was safe to out Grace's participation in this endeavor. Giving the young woman a sliver of recognition for her part in this was the least CC could do. While she wasn't the sentimental type, she knew the young girl deserved an open opportunity to brag to her father.

"Oh my god!" Fran looked ready to run in two directions, CC's hand on her arm the only thing stopping her. "It all makes sense now. Spring, summa…I'm so proud of her!"

"So proud of whom?" Maxwell asked, popping up beside them.

"Oh honey," Fran cooed, "Miss Babcock just told me the best thing."

Smiling absently, CC politely excused herself before leaving the couple on their own. As much as she wanted to see the Brit's facial expression when he discovered his daughter had a better eye for theater than he did, there was another Brit she wanted to catch again before the night was over.

II

"Speak of the devil and the devil shall come," Niles chimed as CC approached, the laughter of Kimberly and Frank Marks (one of the wealthier, regular investors who had been faithful to Sheffield-Babcock Productions and now just Babcock Productions) causing a curious expression to blossom on the blonde's face.

He'd told himself silently many times that night that she was too beautiful of a woman. The dress and look of accomplishment had only enhanced it, and after their gentle moment nearly an hour ago, his opinion on the matter had doubled.

"What's going on here?" She asked with good humor, shaking Frank's hand gently. "He isn't corrupting you, Marks, is he?"

"Oh no," Frank responded, grinning. He was a pleasant man, his age ranging anywhere from his sixties to seventies. CC learned earlier in her career that this man's love was for theater and not woman, and that knowledge had eased her attitude toward him immensely in their dealings. Unlike so many other high class men, he didn't need goading to pique his interest in a show. It was what she'd admired and…well…respected about him

That and he never made passes at her.

"He was just explaining to Kim and I that the only person who could ever play the part of Mary as well as she could is you…"

"You liar," she chastised him, "Niles is corrupting you!"

Sensing the old, natural ease between Frank and CC, Niles smirked, "It isn't corruption if it is the truth…"

Looking between the two, Frank hummed his amusement, "I almost forget that you two were old acquaintances."

"Really?" Kimberly piped up-she was the curious sort Niles had discovered, genuinely interested by everything. Much like Fran, he thought, except her voice and choice of attire.

"Oh, yes," Frank supplied, "Niles here was Maxwell Sheffield's butler, and Miss Babcock was Maxwell's business partner. I've seen these two put on shows that could put Mary and Charles to shame."

CC seemed to be struggling with a blush, but Niles managed to catch her eyes and they shared a secretive smirk before looking back to Frank. In the last seven months there had been many times that Niles had considered just telling her that his affections still remained-why, just an hour before he'd been tempted! All the signs she sent him flashed 'Go' but this thing between them was building. They'd reach their crescendo soon enough, he could feel it, and he wouldn't settle for anything less than perfect.

Not this time.

"Is that even possible?" Kimberly laughed.

"Possible?" CC joined the discussion, surprising Niles, "Of course. He'd insult me; I'd stab him with a fork. I'd insult him; he'd clobber me with a zinger. I often felt like we were a cosmic joke-the comedic relief for an invisible audience."

"Had I known we were performing for your imaginary friends, I would have brushed up on my material," Niles jested.

"Nonsense," CC countered, "you'd be tripping over yourself trying to serve them tea."

"Tea? I'm hard pressed to believe that anyone conjured by your mind would accept anything softer than Rum."

"They'd need it, if they had to look at you all day."

"Cow."

"Eunuch."

"Am not!"

"You will be…"

"Any excuse…"

"Hate you," CC chimed.

"Hate you more," Niles growled.

"Aha!" Frank laughed, "They've still got it in them!"

Kimberly was grinning, "I'll say-wow! And it wasn't even scripted."

"I'm just surprised that these two actually produced a play without slaughtering each other first," Frank guffawed, not oblivious to the two old enemies' new ease with each other. Their jests had lacked the acid he had seen in the past. In fact, he wasn't the only one of the three who thought she looked positively radiant.

Smiling brightly at the investor and actress, CC gave both of their forearms a squeeze, "You spoke too soon. Frank, Kimberly, if you'll excuse us; there is a balcony upstairs just begging for someone to be pushed off."

III

They were interrupted four times before they managed to break away from the party. CC, knowing that her office would be the first place Marie looked, led them to the library once more. She only broke their easy banter to ensure its privacy and to shut the partially opened balcony doors.

This was it, she knew it; and there was no way in hell she was going to let another interruption stop them from talking about what mattered.

"All right, Babcock," Niles stated when she pulled him into the room, "give it your best shot-the balcony is waiting."

Rolling her eyes, she led them to the two arm chairs and gestured for him to sit. After she took her own see, she crossed her legs appropriately and watched as he removed his jacket and draped it over the back of the chair before sitting himself.

"I would never murder you, Hazel, not when there's fun to be had at your expense while you're alive." Spotting the glass of wine she had abandoned earlier, CC gave a rueful smile and reached to snatch it off the table. "Wine?" She offered.

Niles pulled a face, "I thought you don't drink with the help."

"What help have you ever been to me?" CC wagged the glass at him and he took it. "Besides, I'm proud to say that I've given up drinking…mostly."

They shared another round of smirks.

He took a single sip of the bitter wine before setting it on the table, "I'll match your sobriety, there is no way I'm letting you get one on me because you got me drunk."

CC hummed her laughter and leaned back into her chair, allowing her head to rest on the cushion. Her eyes searched his relaxed posture and the way he was watching her in an assuming yet unassuming manner.

After several more seconds of searching, she came to a conclusion. He looked like the same Niles-only, happier, as if some childhood dream had been met tonight. CC was happy to remind herself that it had.

In part, because of her.

"Thank you," her uncharacteristic statement filled the comfortable void, and his eyebrows shot up in curiosity.

"For what?"

"Letting me produce your play." Leaning forward, she continued, "The first time I read through it, I knew that no producer would have been stupid enough to let it slip through their fingers." Other than Maxwell, hung heavily in the air. "I realized that you could have taken it to anybody, Andrew Lloyd Weber even, but you let Grace bring it to me."

"Pity play," he muttered.

"Ha!" CC responded, "We both know that's not true. Niles," she pressed, her tone very serious, causing him to watch her closely, "you put me in charge of your dream-after what I did to you…after I humiliated you in front of Maxwell and Fran. If I were you, I wouldn't have. Not that I'm not relieved…happy…that you did. But why?"

The dim light from the table through shadows across his face, and CC wasn't certain what he was thinking. The silence continued, as they sat staring at each other, and just as she was getting ready to ask if he was all right, Niles answered.

"After I left the Sheffield's I was angry with you, and myself for letting you drive me away. I returned to England, licked my wounds, and moved on." He paused briefly before resuming, and CC unconsciously, leaned closer to hear, "When I returned to work, I found that my new family was nothing like the Sheffields-I grew bored and began writing the musical…"

CC wasn't certain where this was going, but she'd allow him to speak his piece. The answer to her question would be hidden in there somewhere, and she wasn't going to miss a word.

"The first draft was missing something and I found it as boring as my new life. Guess what it was…"

His order was part rhetorical, and when CC wasn't able to answer, he wasn't offended. "Mary."

"Oh," CC breathed, realizing what he was saying.

"I refused to write anybody like you in the script. I was still so angry at you, and myself really. I had characters for Miss Grace, Brighton, Maggie…even Miss Toriello…and while I tried to tell myself the first draft was good, I couldn't bring myself to believe it. It meant little without you in it."

"Niles," she said softly, surprised at the tenderness in his voice.

Staring at her affectionately, he held out his hand and she took it without hesitation. They sat that way for a moment, her hand in his warm grasp, hovering between the armrests of their chairs.

Then he continued, "I kept in contact with Mrs. Sheffield and shared letters with Miss Grace. When they both told that you'd left your partnership with Mr. Sheffield the very same day I resigned…I knew I couldn't give my musical to anyone else."

Feeling the lump in her throat, CC swallowed it, "I'm glad you didn't."

"Oh?"

Bowing her head, CC stared at the red fabric of the chair. Despite her many changes, she wasn't good with emotional confessions. "Well, I'd," she cleared her throat, "I guess I've always wanted to apologize. When you proposed…" she faltered, knowing this was a difficult topic for him, "I thought it was another game. We'd…you'd…well, we were hardly in a conventional relationship. We traded insults like Maxwell and Fran traded affection," she deadpanned, looking up to see his reaction.

There was very little, so she continued, "When we argued before you left…I realized that it might not be a game, but I stubborn and still hoped that it was. I wasn't ready for us, Niles. It was a bad time for me-I was getting used to my medication, getting over my stay at the…sanatorium," it was the first time she'd used that term in front of him, and the pressure he applied to her hand let her know that it wasn't lost upon him. The support let her know this conversation was going in the right direction.

"That's why you didn't stop me," it was a statement, as if he had already come to terms with it.

Another squeeze forced her to continue when she stopped.

"And because I was realizing I had feelings for you and had no idea what the hell to do with them."

"And while I've regretted it every day since," CC whispered, "I'm glad I didn't. I'm in a better place now. I don't need medication," a small blush accompanied the statement; it was hard admitting that she'd had a problem, "I don't need alcohol. I feel more accomplished than I ever have. These were things I had to do for myself, by myself. It means a lot to me that I was strong enough to fix my problems on my own."

Looking at him, she finished, "You deserved no less."

Without a word, Niles stood and tugged on her hand until she was standing too. "Come here, Trollop."

Startled, CC found herself returning his tight hug. Wrapping her arms around his neck, she felt his hands on her back, holding her close. This was what she had hoped for, this sense of mutual understanding. The lack of anger between the two told her that this was the right time, that the three years hadn't detracted from their chances of success but had added to it. That in their absence, they had created a stable ground it which to build a relationship on-and it felt good.

"I love you," she whispered, her cheeks damp. This is what had been missing on the days he had proposed; her willingness to admit her feelings, and his willingness to wait for her.

"Good, because I wasn't going to let you go until you said so," he growled.

Smiling, she pulled him toward her and whispered against his lips, "So demanding….I like it."

Coming to a silent agreement, they consummated their feelings with a kiss. One that was slow, much like them; passionate, much like them; and exhilarating, very much like them. Tightening his grasp, Niles initiated another, this one intended to make her knees weak, which she responded to with the intent to make his weak.

"Aren't you forgetting something?" Her voice was airy when he pulled away, affected by the way his lips grazed her jaw.

"A sequel?" he muttered, eyebrows quirked as he leaned in again, "That'll have to wait, I have more pressing matters to attend to."

"Not a sequel," she gasped incredulously, hands grasping the front of his shirt.

"Mmmm"

"God, where's an echo when you need one?"

"Wha…oh…I love you, too…."

Laughing, CC ran her hands along his shoulders and reluctantly pushed him away. "Good. Now that we've got that settled, why don't you help me break up the party?"

He blinked his glazed eyes, "Tease."

Smiling blissfully, CC straightened his tie and pecked his lips, "I know."

She would enjoy this very much. Them. Together.

IV

Grace Sheffield sat on the light cream colored couch and watched as the last few visitors and cast members collected their coats, hats, and gloves from the front closet. Many left without farewell, but a few of the leads she'd seen frequently during the summer wished her the generic Happy Holidays before trekking out into the late night snow.

It was well past midnight and while she was sleepy, she promised herself she'd remain awake until the last of the party-goers left.

The entire night had been wonderful-from the beginning of the musical until now. She'd been surprised an hour into the party when her father had hunted her down and demanded a full explanation on her participation in the production of the show, but after she told the tale not even he could be angry with her for withholding the information from him. Everyone was too happy for Niles to remain upset-even Maggie had stopped whining for the special day, and the twins had kept from crying.

"Scoot ova, honey," Fran prompted, plopping down on the couch next to her. The brunette peeled off her heels and sighed with pained-pleasure. "These shoes are torture."

Grace smiled at her and accepted the one-armed hug Fran offered her.

"Ya did good, Grace. Niles deserved this, and ya helped give it to him. I'm so proud of you.."

The smile lingered on the young woman's face as she thought about Fran's words. Her mother was right, Niles did deserve this, very much so. He'd spent the greater part of his life working for her father, making their lives run smoother, providing dry humor to her childhood. His success was a long time coming.

On both his endeavors.

"You're right, Fran, he does deserve this. All of it."

"Speaking of Niles, have ya seen him? I want to show him pictures of the twins. And why are ya so cold? Geeze, it's like you've been standing outside all night…" Fran rubbed her hands along Grace's arms in an attempt to massage heat back into them.

The girl stifled a grin. If she answered the first question truthfully, she was sure a certain blonde producer and ex-butler-turned-play-write would have her skewered in her sleep. As it were, she thought they deserved some privacy; and Fran really didn't need to know the newest development in Broadway, did she?

As for the second question, Grace couldn't help but smirk when she answered it, "Well, I was getting some fresh air on the library balcony…"


End file.
